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2 

3 

1 

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32X 


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y>A 


THE 


WIDOW'S    JEWELS. 


BY   MRS.   PICKARD. 


REVISED  BY  DANIEL  P.  KIDDER. 


PHBUSHED  BY  LANE  «&  TIPPETT, 

FOR  THE   81NDAV-SCII00L  UNION   OF  THE  METHODIST  EPISCOFAl. 
CHl'BCH,  200    MULBEBRV-STBEET. 

^  JOSEniLONOKIN  a,     PRINTER. 


COPYRIGHT  SECURED. 


^r^K^TN*^     ^  >v 


%  .'^  ".  *^»<» 


;^r' 


\-a\\ 


I    *  '■'* 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEIt                                                                                                      TkOX 
I.    RoilERT  M'COY 9 

II.  Tin:  Town  of  St.  John 16 

III.  A  XoijLK  Boy 19 

IV.  Tblk  Kindness 30 

V.  BROTHER'S  Death 44 

VI.  Robert's  Burial 47 

VII.  The  Dead  alive 63 


f 


INTRODUCTORY. 


Little  Readehs,— When  a  wealthy  Roman  lady 
was  visiting  a  noblo  friend  of  hers,  she  opened 
before  her  the  rich  casket  of  jewels  which  she 
possessed.  There  lay  soft,  pure  pearls,  rosy 
rubies,  and  glowing  diamonds,  blending  ♦heir 
light  in  brilliant  harmony  and  profusion.  Their 
owner  looked  proudly  up  to  her  friend,  and  asked 
what  she  could  show  to  rival  them.  Without 
wishing  or  attempting  .similar  display,  she  calmly 
waived  the  subject  until  her  children  were  re- 
turned from  school,  and  then  drawing  them  to- 
ward her,  with  eyes  beaming  with  love  and  gra- 
titude, said,  "These  are  my  jewels." 

Jewels,  you  know,  are  beautiful  and  of  great 
worth — becoming  gifts  to  kuigs  and  princes,  and 
chosen  decorations  of  a  crown.  Even  the  King 
of  kings  receives;  them  to  ^  -nament  his  glorious 
dwelling-place,  and  the  1  u  ;  of  life  will  take 
them,  and  wear  them  in  \\\i.  diadem — but  not 
those  sparkling  fonnations  gathered  from  the 


8 


INTRODfCTORy, 


rock,  or  sand,  or  river's  bed,  wliicli  wo  admire 
and  prize  so  nuali.  In  tiu-  sight  of  (iod  tlieso 
arc  gems  of  greater  price;  and  wlien  ail  else 
sliaii  be  destroyed,  be  will  reveal,  numbered 
among  his  jewels,  those  cliildren  whose  bumble 
and  atlectionate  hearts  have  obeyed  bim,  and 
dutifully  attended  the  parents  he  has  given 
them. 

To  aid  in  strengthening  upon  your  young 
minds  impressions  of  this  important  duty,  the 
writer  has  collected  from  memory,  and  placed 
in  contrast,  the  incidents  of  the  following  pages, 
knowing  that  every  lesson,  liowever  simple, 
which  you  treasure  uj)  and  profit  by,  will  be 
imparting  another  ray  of  beauty  to  "jewels" 
which  are  to  shine  for  ever  and  ever  in  the 
paradise  of  God. 

Prayerfully,  your  friend, 

Saint  John,  N,  B.  H.  M.  P. 


Iiicli  wo  admire 
it  iif  ()(jd  tlieso 

wlit'ii  iill  t'Ise 
■('ill,   inmibf^ii'd 

whose  bumble 
eyed  liim,  nnd 

he   1ms   given 

m  your  young 
-tant  duty,  the 
ry,  and  phicod 
allowing  pages, 
)wever  simple, 
fit  by,  will  bo 
y  to  "jewels" 
id  ever  in  the 


id, 


H.  M.  P. 


THE 


WIDOW'S   JEWELS. 


CIIAPTER  I. 

n  o  n  i;  u  t  m  '  c  o  r. 

"  Good  morning,  my  little  lad,"  said 
Mrs.  Sclden,  one  day,  to  a  rosy-clicekod 
boy,  with  curly  hair  and  full  hazel  eyes. 

"  Good  morning,  ma'am,"  aaid  he,  with  a 
smile,  at  the  same  time  removing  his  well- 
worn  cap,  and  the  thick  dark  curls  settled 
lightly  about  his  temples,  adorning  them 
with  beauty  of  which  the  little  possessor 
was  wholly  unconscious. 

*'  What  is  your  name  ?"  she  asked. 

«  William  M'tJoy,"  he  replied. 

"  TIow  old  are  you,  William?" 

"  Eight  years  old,"  said  he,  still  smiling. 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Seidell,  much  interesled  by  his  manly 
voice  and  appearance. 


10 


Tin;  wiDiJw'.s  .n:\vKi.s. 


"  Witli  my  iiioilicr,  jiHt  on  llic  liiH,"  aii- 
Bwm'd  he.  «  Surely  y„ii  Know  tlic  Irish 
woman  who  lives  hcru  in  St.  John  ?  She 
atlrnds  iiicciini,'"  aliiio.st  every  sabbath  at 
tlie  Methodist  chajjel,  and  belongs  to  Mr. 
Welles'  class.  1  and  my  l)roilier  belong 
to  the  sabbath-morning  class.'* 

"  No,  my  dear ;  I  have  never  heard  of 
your  mother.  Is  not  your  father  liv- 
ing?" 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  he,  touching  liis 
bright  lips,  while  a  shade  of  seriousness 
passed  across  his  noble  brow;  "no,  ma'am, 
ho  died  a  long  time  ago  in  Ireland;  one 
glootny  Saturday  night  it  was." 

"  Do  you  remember  him,  William  ?" 

"Yes,  a  little;  and  I  remember  the 
night  he  died— it  rained  so  hard,  and  the 
wind  blew  dreadfully.  It  was  all  dark.  I 
remember,  too,  that  he  kissed  me,  and  his 
breath  felt  cold  upon  my  cheek.  Aunt  Di- 
nah did  not  come ;  all  night  wc  were  there 
alone,  and  I  cried,  for  mother  did.  I  did 
not  know  much  about  it  then,  but  now  I 
often  wish  I  had  a  father." 

"  Perhaps  your  father  is  happy  in  hea- 


I 


,;—  t-,    4  4 


-•--s**>Tr'- 


1,8. 


TIIK   WIDOWS  JEWELS. 


11 


tlif  liill,"  ail- 
ii)\v  tlic  Irish 

John  ?  She 
y  Hiibbiith  at 
'longs  to  Mr. 
iilhtT  belong 

ver  heard  of 
fatlier    liv- 

touching  Ilia 
I  seriousness 
"no,  ma'am, 
Ireland ;   one 

Villiam  ?" 
member  the 
ard,  and  the 
i  all  dark.  I 
me,  and  his 
k.  Aunt  Di- 
'c  were  there 
did.  I  did 
1,  but  now  I 

ppy  in  hea- 


' 


vcn,"  said  Mrs.  Selden,  consolingly,  for 
she  pitied  the  little  one. 

'*  Yes,  he  is,  1  know,"  added  William. 
"  Mother  ol'len  says  so ;  and  when  I 
wish  I  had  a  father,  I  think  he  is  living 
there.  Hut  1  mean  I  should  like  to  see 
him  sometimes,  and  hear  him  speak,  and 
know  that  he  does  not  forget  us.  Sister 
Jane  and  brother  Robert  can  talk  with 
mother  all  about  him — how  he  looked  and 
what  he  said  ;  but  I  only  mind  a  little  of 
him  now,  and  sister  Nelly  was  not  born  till 
many  weeks  after  lu^  died." 

Forgetting  for  a  lew  moments  the  errand 
upon  whieh  William  was  sent  to  her,  Mrs. 
Selden  sat  down,  and  drawing  to  her  side 
a  small  rocking-chair  for  him,  bade  him  be 
seated ;  and,  while  her  arm  rested  along  the 
top  of  it,  contiiuied  their  conversation  :  for 
the  little  stranger  was  every  moment  be- 
coming more  and  more  interesting  to  her, 
and  she  hupf<l  she  could  do  something  for 
the  relief  of  the  family  to  which  he  be- 
longed. His  mother  was  poor,  a  widow, 
and  they  were  fatherleso ;  these  were 
claims  strong  enough  to  a  heart  which 


12 


Tin:  WIDOWS  jewels. 


also  trusted  in  Him,  who,  she  remembered, 
in  his  holy  habitation,  has  promised  to  be 
a  husband  to  the  widow,  and  the  father  of 
her  lonely  children. 

"  How  long  have  you  lived  here  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Selden. 

"  I  do  not  Unow,  ma'am,"  said  he.  "  I 
think  it  is  a  long  time ;  it  may  be  as  much 
as  four  years :  because  when  father  was 
dead,  there  was  no  one  to  bring  us  any 
more  meal  or  fish,  and  mother  could  not 
get  work  enough  to  do,  even  to  buy  corn 
or  potatoes  for  all  of  us,  and  then  she  came 
away  here." 

"  And  does  she  get  work  enough  now, 
William  ?" 

"  No  ma'am,  not  always,"  replied  he ; 
"  this  winter  has  been  a  hard  one  for  us." 

"  How  then  does  she  support  you  now  ?" 
continued  Mrs.  Selden. 

"  Sometimes  she  does  have  some  work 
to  do,  and  sister  Jane  lives  out  to  service, 
and  brings  her  wages  home  each  month ; 
and  that  helps  mother  to  pay  the  rent  of 
our  room :  and  sometimes  this  winter,"  ad- 
ded he,  looking  down,  and  turning  round 


iLS. 

I  remembered, 
romised  to  be 
d  tlic  father  of 

here  ?"  asked 

'  said  he.  "  I 
ly  be  as  much 
en  father  was 
bring  us  any 
her  could  not 
ti  to  buy  corn 
then  she  came 

enough  now, 

'  replied  he; 
[  one  for  us." 
)rt  you  now  ?" 

VG  some  work 
)ut  to  service, 
each  month ; 
ly  the  rent  of 
is  winter,"  ad- 
urning  round 


THE  WIDOW'S  JEWELS. 


13 


and  round  the  little  cap  which  he  held  in 
his  hands,  "sometimes — O,  ma'am,  what 
should  we  have  done  if  the  kind  man  had 
not  given  her  something  from  the  poor 
house !" 

"  I  fear  you  must  have  su fibred  often 
from  want  of  food  and  fuel,  William." 

"  We  have  not  suffered  as  much  as  poor 
old  Mrs.  Meloy  has,  who  lives  in  the  next 
room  to  us,  and  I  do  not  think  we  shall. 
I  cannot  do  much  yet  for  mother,  only 
while  the  men  work  in  the  ship  yards, 
which  will  be  a  little  while  Icngor;  they 
let  me  go  in  and  pick  up  chips  for  us: 
but  brother  Robert  is  now  thirteen  years 
old,  and  once  in  awhile  has  some  errands 
to  do,  for  which  he  is  paid  money,  and 
then  he  always  brings  every  penny  to  mo- 
ther. And  this  week  he  has  begun  to 
work  on  the  roads :  they  will  allow  him 
to  come  three  days  in  the  week,  and  give 
him  sixpence  a  day  for  breaking  stones." 

As  he  said  this  his  countenance  bright- 
ened again,  exhibiting  the  hope  of  comfort 
which  animated  him  even  from  this  small 
new  source.     But,  when    all    these  little 


14 


TIIK  ATIDOWS  JEWELS. 


gains  were  summed  together,  O  how  small 
indeed  were  they,  and  how  insufficient  to 
pay  rent,  and  supply  food,  and  fuel,  and 
clothes,  for  four,   during  a  long  winter. 
As  Mrs.  Sc'lden  looked  upon  him  sadly, 
and  almost  wept  at  the  picture  of  the  hard- 
ships which  her  fancy  drew  as  having  been 
the  lot  of  that  lonely  alien  family,  she  re- 
membered iiow  often  she  had  seen  discon- 
tent and  heard  wicked  murmurings  among 
some  little  children  who  never  knew  want; 
but,  while  a  kind  father's  care  supplies  all 
their  needs,  and  a  mother's  gentle  hand 
and  voice  is  ready  to  soothe  all  their  sor- 
rows, even  then  they  indulge  in  complaints 
and  rcpinings,  and  words  of  sinful  ingra- 
titude not  only  have  stained  their  lips,  but 
have   been   heard  by    Him  who  notices 
where  his  blessings  fall  to  bring  back  no 
return  of  praise,  and  in  displeasure  turns 
away  his  love  from  the  sullen  brow  and 
thankless  heart. 

But  William  was  not  so.  With  cheer- 
fulness ho  had  counted  up  to  Mrs.  Selden 
their  cherished  dependences  for  future 
comfort.   But  was  it  these  poor  hopes  alone 


LS. 

0  how  small 
nsufficient  to 
iiid  fuel,  and 

long  winter, 
on  him  sadly, 
•e  of  the  hard- 
s  having  been 
.niily,  she  re- 
:l  seen  discon- 
urings  among 
;r  knew  want ; 
re  supplies  all 

1  gentle  hand 
;  all  their  sor- 

in  complaints 
f  sinful  ingra- 

their  lips,  but 

who  notices 

bring  back  no 

pleasure  turns 

Hen  brow  and 

With  checr- 
:o  Mrs.  Selden 
;es  for  future 
)or  hopes  alone 


r 


THE  -WIDOWS  JEWELS. 


15 


which  sealed  liiat  calm  smile  upon  the 
face  of  little  William,  and  gave  to  his 
voice  that  constant  nok;  of  happiness  ?  O 
no !  not  these.  Beyond  the  scanty  plea- 
sures which  he  gathered  here  and  there  in 
his  rough  path  of  poverty,  there  was  al- 
ready in  his  young  breast  a  deep  and 
never-failing  source  of  joy.  It  is  true,  the 
eye  could  not  see  its  sparkling,  and  the 
ear  of  the  bystander  etmld  not  listen  to  its 
gentle  flow,  but  all  silently  and  sweetly  it 
ever  poured  into  his  mind  that  calm  con- 
tent and  holy  hope  which  distinguished  it 
as  flowing  only  from  that  "  Well  of  water" 
of  which  the  Christian  tastes,  purifying 
the  heart,  and  "springing  up  to  everlast- 
ing life." 

In  his  own  home  was  its  influence  most 
deeply  felt,  and  blessed  to  his  mother's  joy. 
His  brother  Roberi,  too,  shared  in  like  pre- 
cious faith ;  and  cheerful  was  the  little  room 
in  which  they  dwelt,  with  the  eye  of  God 
looking  down,  and  already  numbering 
among  his  own  those  whom  the  desolate 
widow,  in  distress  and  aflliction,  thankfully 
reckoned  as  her  "jewels." 


1 


T 


16  Tin;  wiuow's  jewels. 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  TOAVN   OF   ST.  JOHN. 

The  eye  of  the  reader  of  lliis  little  sketch 
may  never  have  rested  upon  the  scenery  of 
one  of  the  most  eastern  cities  of  the  con- 
tinent, Si.  John,  and  its  vicinity.     Lacking, 
as  it  does,  the  long  and  tasteful    culture 
bestowed  upon  the  soil  with  which  we  are 
more  familiar,  it  might  be  to  us,  perhaps, 
in  aspect,  less  lovely  and  beloved  than  the 
fair  metropolis  and  smiling  towns  of  New- 
England;    but  the  wildness  and  grandeur 
so  strikingly  marked  upon  the  noble  fc> 
tures  of  the  landscape  at  once  command 
the  notice  of  the  beholder,  and  make  him 
feel,  as  he  approaches  it,  that,  in  natural 
.scenery  at  least,  it  is  not  ground  unworthy 
the  favor  of  subjects  of  the  British  throne. 
Here,  where  but  sixty  years  ago  the  Indian 
and  the  deer  ranged  in  the  forests,  and,  in 
vuidisturbed  solitude,  overlooked  the  broad 
bay,  now,  like  a  prosperous  queen  of  its 
waters,  sits  this  rapidly  increasing  city,  a 


LS. 


OIIN. 


Tin;    \VI|)0\V'.S   JKWKI.S. 


17 


lis  little  sketch 
the  scenery  of 
es  of  the  con- 
ty.     Lacking, 
steful    culture 
which  we  are 
o  us,  perhaps, 
loved  than  the 
owns  of  New- 
and  grandeur 
the  noble  fc\- 
nce  command 
and  make  him 
lal,  in  natural 
lund  unworthy 
British  throne, 
ago  the  Indian 
forests,  and,  in 
oked  the  broad 
s  queen  of  its 
;rcasing  city,  a 


long  line  of  rocky  and  majestic  hiJla  ex- 
teiuling  on  either  hand. 
^  Hero   has  been  the  sc-ene  of  many  an 

iiitfn-.stinq;  ,„h1  aflecling  incident  for  the 
jH'n  of  hifslory  or  romance  to  record ;  but, 
leaving  lli,..,o,  uc  .sjiall  turn  to  dully  life, 
and  from  this  place  select  a  suhjecf  which, 
tliough  it  never  allracted  public  notice,  and 
is  now  humble  in  relation,  may  neverthe- 
less not  be  unproiifable  to  the  little  public 
for  whom  it  is  penned. 

St.  John  has  been,  for  a  lime,  iho  home 
of  the  writer;   and  near  the  spot  where  she 
lived    is    the    lonely    dwelling-place    of 
poor    INIrs.    M'Coy.      We   call    it    lonely, 
though  it  stood  in  the  midst  of  that  busy 
city,  and  though,  in  the  house  which  they 
occu])ied,  there   were  other  families,  like 
themselves,  emigrants  from  the  coast  of 
Ireland ;    but  it  was  lonely  because  it  was 
the   abode  of  the   widow  and  fatherless, 
who,  oppressed  by  affliction  and  jJovcrly, 
felt  indeed  that  they  were  "strangers  to 
the  VN^orld,  unknown,"  and  from  their  small 
upper  room  saw  not,  as  the  gay,  the  rich, 
2 


18 


Tin:  WIDOW'S  jkwki.s. 


may  sor  and  Ifcl,  llic  exciting  iiiiiniation 
wliich  fills  llic.  birast,  wlii-ri.'  bupiiu-ss  rat- 
lies  ill  its  noisy  course,  and  beauty,  wealth 
and  fashion,  walk  abroad  in  briiflit  display. 
And  yet  in  that  upper  room,  where  were 
very  few  of  the  articles  wliieh  comfort 
iTiigiit  require,  there  was  an  innuence  shed 
down  from  al)ove,  which  car.  sweetly  sup- 
ply the  place  of  other  comf(>rts;  aiul  even 
where  most  scantily  is  furnished  "  the  bread 
which  pcrishetli,"  can  break  in  richest  pro- 
fusion to  the  hungry  poor  "  the  Ijread  of 


There  was  the  table  which  "  He  who 
rules  on  high"  so  liberally  spreads;  and 
morning  and  evening  did  this  little  family 
encircle  that  spiritual  board,  seeking  spirit- 
ual food  :  sometimes  the  tongue  of  the  mo- 
ther guided  theirunited  pctitions,and  some- 
times, in  the  childish  tones  and  thoughts 
of  little  William  or  Robert,  prayer  arose  to 
Him  who  "  out  of  the  mouths  of  babes 
and  sucklings  has  perfected  praise." 

Thus  week  after  week  went  by,  and  cold 
mid-winter,  with  its  storms,  was  on  the 
land.     From  time  to  time,  as  Mrs.  Selden 


i:i,3. 

iiig  iuiiniatioii 
c  busi'iiK'ss  rat- 
beauty,  wealth 
briglit  display. 
II,  where  wer(^ 
vliieli  eoinlort 
iiilhieiiee  shed 
1.  .sweetly  snp- 
>rts;  and  even 
lied  "  the  bread 
:  ill  richest  pro- 
"  the  l)read  of 

lich  "  He  who 
spreads ;  and 
liis  little  family 
,  seeking  spirit- 
igaeof  the  mo- 
ions,  and  some- 
s  and  thoughts 
prayer  arose  to 
Duths  of  babes 
1  praise." 
L'nt  by,  and  cold 
s,  was  on  the 
as  Mrs.  Selden 


TMi:    WIDOWS  JICWKLS. 


19 


saw  tlieni,  and  learned  their  circumstances, 
she  found  lliein  happy  wilh  each  other, 
and  wilh  the;  many  blessings  which  they 
numbered  up;  uncomplaining  mid  wants, 
and  rejoicing  diat,  while  they  were  also 
pres(rved  from  the  extremes  of  hunger 
and  cold,  they  could  look  upward  in  love 
to  meet  a  heavenly  Father's  love,  being 
saved  in  their  poverty  from  suffering  "as 
those  who  liuve  no  hope." 


C'lIAPTER  III, 

A   NOBLIC   DOY. 

How  kind  how,  merciful,  is  that  arrange- 
ment of  Providence  which  makes  not  hap- 
piness  and  usefulness  dependent  upon  the 
possession  of  wealth,  nor  even  withholds 
from  the  very  young  the  capacity  to  con- 
tribute a  share  of  iniluence  to  the  stock  of 
human  enjoyment.  Robert  had  com- 
menced his  day  labors  upon  the  highway ; 
and,  during  the  few  weeks  in  which  he  had 
been  so  privileged,  he  had  felt  himself  to 


20 


Tin;  WIDOWS  jkwi:is. 


be  a  happier  boy  than  ever  boforo.  Hia 
time  was  more  ron.staiitly  occupied,  and 
iie  was  conscious  of  newly  awaUeiied  en- 
<T^y  and  dignity,  IVoiu  the  important  aid 
he  was  tims  rendering  to  iiis  mother. 

A  wcelv  was  closing.  Robert  had  been 
all  day  al  the  employment  which  gave  him 
so  much  pleasure:  for  uninteresting  in 
itself,  as  may  be  Kupi)osed,  was  tiic  occu- 
pation of  breaking  large  stones  into  small 
ones;  and  fatiguing  as  it  became  when, 
sitting  hour  after  hour  upon  the  rough  pile 
where  he  labored,  he  saw  it  only  slowly 
accumulating,  as  stroke  by  stroke  with  his 
hammer  he  gradually  diminished  the;  large 
mass  before  him  ;  yet  no  thought  of  dis- 
couragement at  the  very  small  compensa- 
tion to  be  received,  nor  any  feeling  of 
weariness,  could  induce  him  to  give  up 
his  post.  As  if  he  were  constantly  learn- 
ing the  value  of  perseverance  from  the 
hard,  unyielding  nature,  of  the  stones  them- 
selves, he  labored  away,  and  made  the  long 
hours  appear  like  short  ones,  by  often  re- 
membering the  aflectionalc  smile  of  liis 
mother  when  he  had  placed  in  her  hand 


i:i  H. 

r  before.     His 
occupied,  and 
awakened  en- 
important  aid 
s  niotlier. 
i)i)ert  had  l)een 
liieh  gave  iiim 
lintercsting   in 
was  tiie  occu- 
jnes  into  small 
became  when, 
I  the  rough  pile 
it  only  slowly 
stroke  with  his 
lished  tlie  large 
thought  of  dis- 
lall  compcnj^a- 
uiy  feeling   of 
im  to  give  up 
[)nstantly  learn- 
ance    from    the 
he  stones  them- 
1  made  the  long 
les,  by  often  re- 
c  smile  of   liis 
:cd  in  her  hand 


Tin;  WIDOWS  jewels. 


21 


the  throe  silver  sixpences  of  a  uook's  wa- 
ges, and  in  imagining  what  would  bo  her 
delight  and  his  own,  when  he  should  pre- 
sent to  her,  in  n  form  which  his  filial 
alloction  suggested,  an  unexpected  luxury, 
as  the  avails  of  his  next  payment;  how  it 
would  cure  licr  headache,  cheer  her  spir- 
its,^ and  gain  for  him  the  oft-repeated, 
"God  bless  you,  my  good  Robert!" 

Could  the  little  boys,  whose  cheeks 
would  probably  have  been  bedewed  with 
tears,  if  they  had  been  compelled  to  en- 
dure what  they  might  call  the  hardship  of 
sitting  thus  at  labor,  in  cold  and  poverty, 
have  seen  young  Robert*— his  cheeks  and 
ears  tinted  with  ruddiest  crimson  from  ex- 
posure to  the  wintery  blasts— his  eyes,  with- 
out a  trace  of  tears,  brightened  by  the 
emotions  of  gratitude  and  affection,  vvhile 
his  steady-going  hammer  kept  time  with 
the  tune  he  whistled— they  could,  over- 
looking his  well-patched  jacket,  almost 
have  been  induced  for  awhile  to  exchange 
their  warm  firesides  for  his  warm  heart ; 
and,  leaving    the  little  pleasures  which 

*  See  frontispiece. 


_A 


22 


TiiK  uiiiow  s  .ir.w  ir.H. 


iTiom-y  can  purdiaHc,  ilicy  would  cortainly 
havo  felt  and  ac'kiio\vl('(lt,'('fl  that  tlicy  are 
all  HHiall  iiidrcd  coriiiiarcd  with  llic  pun; 
plciisiin!  ol  iloiiii^  i(()()(l, 

II  WHS  Saturday  fvcniug.  The  hour 
for  hiui,  wltli  Ills  fclh)\v-laborrrs,  to  leave 
their  tasks  came  with  the  shades  of  iiit!;ht, 
and  Robert,  carefully  putting  up  his  ham- 
mer, whieli  constituted  all  his  little  stock 
in  trade,  turned  from  the  scene  of  his  toil 
with  hajjpiness.  A  sabhsith-day  of  rest 
was  before  hiui  on  the  morrow:  and  ere 
he  should  sleep,  preparatory  to  entering 
upon  it,  he  could  bring  to  his  l)eloved  mo- 
ther a  new  comfort.  Fjightly  he  turned 
his  steps  toward  the  paymaster,  and,  re- 
ceiving the  money  due  to  him,  grasped  the 
rich  treasure  in  his  hand.  The  queen 
herself  had  never  such  a  pleasure  as  he 
foretasted  now — perhaps  none  to  be  pre- 
ferred to  it. 

"  Halloo,  Bob  M'C'oy  !"  called  a  young 
rough  voice  to  him  from  the  opposite  side 
of  the  street.  So  occupied  was  Robert's 
mind  with  the  one  thought  which  had 
possessed  it,  that  this  sudden  interruption 


I'ouUl  rorlainly 
l  that  ihcy  are 
wilh  tlic  |)un; 

ig.  The  hour 
borers,  to  Iciivo 
hiidi'H  of  iiiu;lit, 
ig  up  hirt  huin- 

his  little  stock 
[•one  of  his  toil 
ith-iiay  of  rest 
)rro\v :  and  ore 
iry  to  filtering 
Ills  beloved  nio- 
;hlly  he  turned 
Master,  and,  re- 
lim,  grasped  the 
Tlie    (piecii 

pleasure  as  he 
lonc   to  be  j)re- 

called  a  young 
le  opposite  side 
•d  was  Robert's 
gilt  which  had 
Jen  ijitcrruption 


r 


rni:  widow  s  jkwkls. 


98 


of  it  made  him  start,  and,  looking  eonfu. 
.sedly  around,  he  distinguished,  in  ih,,  faint 
Iwiliglil,  the  stout  litll..  form  and  tattered 
eoat  of  Junu's  Dolicrty. 

"Where  are  you  g„i„g  so  fast?"  said 
.lames;  "  I  lliought  the  street  itself  was  not 
long  enough  for  you  then!" 

"  llonu-,  as  cpiiik  as  I  ean,  to  mo- 
ther,"  answered  Robert,  eontinuing  on  his 
way. 

"Not  so  fast,  Hoi),"  shouted  James 
again,  eagerly ;  "  1  am  older  than  you, 
and  may  be  can  tell  you  a  word  worth 
Knowing." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Robert ;  "  I  have  a  great 
deal  to  do  to-night." 

"()  yes,  and  don't  [  know  it?  your 
ealeeliism  to  b.;  sure.  Ah  ha!  That's 
for  being  sueh  a  foolish  lory  that  you 
were  to  learn  to  read  indeed!  Ihn  you 
must  wait  a  bit,"  said  he,  looking  at  Ro- 
bert, who  heeded  him  not.  Then  using 
all  speed,  he  soon  overtook  the  eomposed 
boy,  and  holding  out  his  hand,  contaiiii  ig 
a  few  eoi)|)ers,  said  softly,  slyly  nodding 
his  head,  ".Just  down  by  the  yard  yonder 


u 


nil.  wiDuw.H  .ir.w  i.i.H. 


is  11  nice  liiuuly  ooriu-r,  wlirnr  I'atiick  Mii* 
IxUH'y  aiiil  1  have  been  liiiniii^  coppers  so 
neatly  to-day  :  Irt  youi  iiiotlicr  t^o,  ami 
come  you  willi  tlie  cliam^c  llic  man  ijavo 
you;  Hi'i*  wlio'll  v.iii,  iiikI  good  liuU  to 
you." 

"James  Uoheriy!"  exclaimed  Robert; 
f»nd  bv'  was  about  to  add,  "you  are  a 
wickfd  iiuy;"  but  cheeking  liims^eif,  re- 
niembiriiig  that  ibis  would  only  uiakc 
James  augry,  and  prevent  liis  doing  liiin 
any  good,  lie  ^<aid  solemnly,  "  Who  are  you 
talking  to!  /  let  my  good  mother  go,  in- 
deed !  and  I  am  her  oldest  son,  and  she  is 
my  best  earthly  iVieiid  I  Let  her  go,  James, 
and  go  with  you  to  spend  so  wieketlly  the 
money  I  have  received  ;  not  1 1" 

"  Your  mother's  oldi-st  son,  to  be  sure 
you  are,"  said  James,  "  and  wiser  tlian 
many  an  older  one,  as  myself,  you  think. 
But  you  yet  can  learn  a  little ;  and  it  is  I 
can  tell  you  it  is  far  easier  to  throw  a 
copper  with  a  good  lad  than  to  sit  beat- 
ing at  stones  all  day." 

"  Not  easier  for  me,"  said  Robert,  digiii- 
fiedly.     "  And,  James,  do  you  know  ivho 


r 


4 


f 


If  I'atiick  Mil- 
ling ciippt-rs  so 
lotlier  f,'t),  and 
•  lln'  limn  a;iiv(! 
good   liu'k  to 

aimed  Robert ; 
il,  "you  nro  a 
liif  hiinsi'lf,  rn- 
Id   only    make 

his  doing  liini 
"  Wlio  are  you 

motlior  go,  in- 
snn,  and  she  is 
I  her  go,  .laiiii'S, 
«)  wickinlly  the 
jt  I !" 

son,  to  l)c  sure 
uid  wiser  tlian 
soil",  you  think. 
Itle ;  and  it  is  I 
ier  to  throw  a 
lan  to  sit  beat- 

J  Robert,  digni- 
you  know  who 


riu:  WIDOWS  .ii;WKI,a. 


M 


i 


{ 


KPes  yon  all  tlir-  time,  and  knows  your  win  1 
\n\\  lorifcl  Hiiil  when  you  eall  il  en:iy : 
no  I  il  is  Imnl  work  to  sin  I" 

"  And  who  nays  it  is  sin,  you  sinner, 
just  to  pilch  a  copper  at  a  stick,  and  sec  il 
turn  tlie  very  way  you  said  it  would,  and 
piU  il  in  your  pocket  then  so  sweclly?  as 
it'  that  were  not  your  own,  and  stealing 
you  were  all  the  time.  No,  no  I  it  is  the 
sauK!  thing  that's  done  by  gentlemen  :  and 
when  I  am  old  enough  1  will  learn  how 
llu-y  turn  the  cards  !  t'ome,  we  are  just  by 
the  place." 

"James,  I  told  you  I  sliould  lot  go!  I 
am  in  a  hurry  to  go  home;  and  if  I  had 
the  whole  day  and  sunshine  before  me  I 
would  not  go  with  you.  I  tell  you  it  is 
sin:  were  those  coppers  each  a  golden 
'sovereign,'  and  wer<!  a  thousand  more 
there  shining  by  them,  1  would  not  take 
one  of  them  sol  It  is  sin,  and  no  gentle- 
man can  make  the  mattt  r  any  better." 

The  wretched  urchin  turned  around 
facing  Robert,  and,  dancing  along  back- 
ward directly  in  his  path,  raised  aloft  his 
hand  containing  the  coppers,  and  shaking 


26 


THE   WIDOW'S  JKWELS. 


it  until  each  rent  in  his  dirty  sleeve  became 
visible,  cxdainied,  "  Ha,  ha !  let  every 
man  laugh  that  wins." 

"  zVh,  ah  !  let  every  hoy  mourn  that  sins," 
responded  Robert. 

And  so  their  interview  ended  ;  for  poor 
Doherty  was  one  of  those  who  "  refuse  in- 
struction," and  always  hasten  to  escape 
from  it,  where  escape  is  possible.  His 
parents  were  both  unhappily  of  the  same 
description,  who,  having  lived  long  in  dis- 
regard of  sin,  seldom  feared  or  thought 
upon  its  punishment,  and  were  rapidly 
preparing  to  leave  to  their  numerous  family 
of  sons  and  danghtcrs  the  miserable  in- 
heritance of  their  own  poverty,  idleness, 
and  sin ;  with  the  sure  prospect  of  its 
final,  just  recompense — even  endless  death. 
Much  as  these  circumstances  of  their  com- 
fortless and  discordant  heme  recommended 
the  children  to  the  sympathy  of  those  who 
condemn  sin — although  untaught,  as  they 
were,  beneath  that  profane  roof — yet  from 
time  to  time  a  voice  reached  their  hearts 
as  they  turned  to  commit  evil ;  for  God 
has  not  left  himself  without  witness,  even 


•--.#.,  ■IB«>^»••> 


WELS. 

y  sleeve  became 
ha !     let    every 

nourii  that  sins," 

Muled ;  for  poor 
who  "  refuse  in- 
aslen  to  escape 
possible.  His 
)ily  of  the  same 
ived  long  in  dis- 
ired  or  thought 
d  were  rapidly 
lumcrous  family 
le  miserable  in- 
overfy,  idleness, 
prospect  of  its 
en  endless  death. 
ws  of  their  com- 
ic rcconunendcd 
hy  of  those  who 
ntaught,  as  they 
3  roof — yet  from 
hed  their  hearts 
t  evil ;  for  God 
ut  witness,  even 


Tin-:    WIDOWS   J i; WELS. 


27 


in  such  abodes,  and  in  such  hearts.  Con- 
science, tli;it  sure  evidence  of  his  own 
existence,  everywhere  remains  the  faithful 
friend  and  teacher  of  the  young,  and  al- 
thongli  to  these  persons,  blinded  by  ig- 
norance and  superstition,  the  holy  word 
of  God  was  as  a  sealed  book,  yet  this 
moving  principle  within,  ever  gathered  for 
them  choice  instructions  from  the  light  and 
truth,  which,  in  our  favored  lands,  are  so 
widely  scattered  from  its  pages. 

Conscience  taught,  then,  of  the  sin  of 
this  species  of  gambling ;  and,  silently  re- 
proved within  his  own  bosom,  as  well  as  by 
the  words  of  Robert,  James  hastily  sought 
to  flee  both  the  words  and  thoughts  of  re- 
monstrance so  annoying  to  him,  and,  mur- 
muring the  angry  curse  he  dared  not 
pronounce,  darted  down  the  lane  leading 
to  the  "nice  handy  corner"  to  which  he 
had  been  inviting  Robert,  hoping  to  meet 
there  with  some  more  reatiy  victim  of  his 
temptations  and  skill:  for  James  had  so 
thoroughly  learned  the  art  of  cheating,  and 
had  so  little  regard  for  truth,  that  seldom 
did  a  copper  make  its  appearance  upon 


28 


rrir.  widow's  ,ir.\vi:r.s. 


"  pitrliing  ground,"  wliore  lie  was  piTSOiil, 
wliitli  ho  (lid  not  maiinge  in  somi;  way  to 
pans  into  his  pocket ;  while  few  indeed  of 
them  ever  escaped  thence  to  appease  the 
anger  of  those,  who,  vexed  at  the  "  luck  " 
which  "wicked  Jim"  kept  in  his  own  con- 
trol, not  only  sacrificed  their  money  and 
disobeyed  the  right,  but  received  from  him 
their  first  lessons  in  swearing. 

But  Robert  had  given  to  conscience, 
that  friendly  voice  from  God,  a  strong  place 
in  his  heart,  and  therefore  could  not  be 
easily  betrayed  into  evil ;  for  those  wdio 
fear  the  Lord,  arc  kept  from  falling  into 
sin  by  his  power.  Again,  as  he  pro- 
ceeded homeward,  his  thoughts  returned 
to  the  pleasing  subject  from  which  they 
had  for  a  time  been  diverted  by  pity  for 
the  vicious  boy.  And  when  he  came  to 
a  grocer's  store,  brightly  lighted,  he  bound- 
ed in,  and,  laying  upon  the  counter  two  of 
his  sixpences,  dem;inded  their  equivalent 
in  ij^nod  tea.  As  he  received  the  small 
parcel  from  the  tradesman's  hands,  a  smile 
of  delight  overspread  his  features,  and  the 
involuntary  words,  "  My  dear  good  mo- 


^ 


VIU.S. 

he  was  present, 
11  soint!  way  to 
!  few  indeed  of 
to  appease  the 
1  at  the  " luek  " 
in  his  own  eon- 
eir  money  and 
eived  from  him 

to  conseieiice, 
:1,  a  strong  plae.c 
e  eonld  not  be 

for  those  who 
rom  falHng  into 
in,  as  he  pro- 
ingiits  returned 
im  whieh  they 
rted  by  pity  for 
hen  he  eanie  to 
hted,  he  bound- 
!  counter  two  of 
iheir  ecpiivalent 
•ived  the  small 
s  hands,  a  smile 
I'atures,  and  the 
dear  sood  mo- 


^ 


THK   WIDOWS  JEWELS. 


29 


iherl''  dropped  touehingly  from  his  lips. 
It  was  worth  a  wecU  of  toil  indeed  I  Chi'er- 
fnlly  tlii'M  laying  down  th(!  remaining  six- 
piMicc,  111'  pnreliased  with  it  a  fi'W  potatoes 
and  three  or  lour  candles. 

VV'iiii  n  prond  heart  and  light  stej)  he 
sprang  up  the  stairs  leading  to  tiie  low 
room  in  whieh  they  lived  ;  then,  setting  by 
the  potatoes  and  candles,  he  went  softly 
up  to  his  mother,  and,  placing  in  her  hand 
the  new  luxury,  turned  quickly  to  the  win- 
dow to  conceal  tiui  tears  which  were 
starting  to  his  eye. 

"Robert!  my  good  Robert  I  God  spare 
you  to  us !"  ejaculated  the  poor  woman  ; 
and  laying  her  hand  upon  his  head,  with 
fervent  kiss,  and  fervent  faith,  she  silently 
asked  for  iiim  the  richest  blessings  which 
heaven  might  condescend  to  give. 


30 


TIIK   WiUOW'S  JKWKLS. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

T  U  V  K     KIND  N  IC  S  S. 

HiMBi.K  and  courti'ous  in  liis  nianiuT 
loward  all,  Robert  was  rapidly  gaining 
friends.  Among  tlin  lew  who  began  to 
appreciate  his  unassuming  worth,  were 
some  who  were  able  to  assi.^t  him  in  his 
eilbrts  for  a  livelihood,  by  furnishing  him 
occasional  employment.  But  not  from 
such  individuals  alone  did  he  seem  desir- 
ous of  securing  favor;  the  poor,  and  fee- 
ble, and  aged,  shared  in  i1h;  attentions 
^vhi(•h  he  could  bestow,  and  among  them, 
where  least  observed  by  others,  were  some 
of  the  brightest  manifestations  of  his  kind- 
ness. One,  who  was  almost  blind,  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  guarding  to  and  from 
meeting,  when  other  infirmities  did  not 
prevent  her  from  attending.  With  another, 
who  was  old,  and  much  alfected  by  a  can- 
cer in  the  head,  he  was  accustomed  fre- 
quently to  sit  in  his  leisure  moments, 
sometimes  reading  to  her  from  the  word 
of  God  ;    and  when  one  day  a  little  boy, 


TTtl" 


VKLS. 

V. 

K  S  S. 

ill  liis  nianiUT 
aj)idly  gainins; 
wilt)  bocfiin  to 
g  worth,  were. 
jsi.-t  liim  ill  liis 
funiisliing  him 
But  not  from 
lio  seem  dcsir- 
;  poor,  and  foe- 

th(;  attentions 
id  among  tliem, 
hers,  were  some 
ons  of  hi.s  kind- 
most  blind,  he 
ng  to  and  from 
•mitics   did   not 

With  another, 
icctcd  by  a  can- 
iccnstomed  fre- 
sure  moments, 
'  from  the  word 
lav  a  little  bov, 


niK  wiDDW.-i  ,n-\vi;LS. 


81 


i 


who  had  been  sent  to  her  with  some  iioney 
for  iier  eougli,  exclaimed  disdaiiifiiily  to 
Robert,  becan.-e  ol'  tlie  long  visit  he  had 
been  making  in  her  room,  "  I'oh  !  /was 
glad  enongh  to  get  away  as  soon  as  I 
eould,  her  head  smells  so  bad,  and  looks 
so  disagreeably  with  those  thick  bandages," 
Robert  only  answered  by  saying  that  fic 
could  bear  il  very  well,  thongii  it  did  seem 
bad,  because  he  thonght  to  himself, 
"  What  if  she  were  «)//  mother.,  and  living 
alone  so  ?  T  should  want  some  one  to  be 
willing  to  sit  by  her  then  1" 

For  many,  indeed,  Robert  was  never 
unwilling  to  perform  any  service,  and  was 
freciLienlly  oflering  his  aid;  so  that  in  the 
small  circle  with  which  he  was  eonneeled, 
his  very  name  was  beloved,  and  his  com- 
ing everywhere  welcomed. 

Some,  who  are  not  thoughtfully  desirous 
of  improving  every  opportunity  to  add  to 
the  happiness  of  mankind,  may  think  these 
were  biU  small  matters,  and  regarding  them 
as  of  little  consequence,  will  be  very  likely 
to  lose  the  jjleasure  of  contributing  their 
aid  toward  increasing  the  general  .stock  of 


32 


THK   WIDOW'S  .JK\VKI.8. 


good,  forgoltiiii^  how  luucli  tlicy  really 
viii^/il  do,  and  Iciiviiiii;  to  tliosc  only  who 
ciui  ])C'rl'orni  {^ront  deeds,  whieh  may  a1- 
tract  the  iiotiee  of  hundreds,  llie  delight  of 
relieviiiir,  in  some  degree,  tlie  sorrows  ol 
the  world.  Siieh  persons,  would  they  re- 
flect a  inomenl,  will  be  surprised  to  lind 
how  mueh  llie  eond'ort  of  tlieir  lives  has 
depended  upt)n  little  kindnesses  and  mo- 
mentary attentions,  and  how  small  a  share 
ol'  it  has  been  caused  by  any  sii'i'dl  efl'orts 
of  others  in  their  behalf. 

The  eartli  in  its  lovely  drapery  of  green, 
the  trees  which  compose  our  vast  forests — 
even  that  one  which  may  stand  loltiesl, 
and  highest  wave  its  luxuriant  branches — 
owe  not  their  beauty  and  their  grandeur 
more  to  the  copious  shower  and  favoring 
noontide  sun,  than  to  thi>  softened  morning 
beams  and  gently  nursing  dt'ws  of  eve. 
Then  let  the  youngest  heart  which  may 
have  learned  to  estimate  a  comfort,  begin 
to  cherish  there  that  true  benevolence 
which  will  lead  it  to  seek,  in  small  events, 
lO  bless  the  world.  Afterward,  "  because 
they  have  been  faithful  in  little,"  the  com- 


VEL9. 

icli  they  really 
liosc  only  who 
which  iiiiiy  a1- 
S  llii'  (li'li^hl  of 
tiic  sdirows  ol 

would  llicy  rc- 
irpiiscd   lo  lliul 

lljc'ir  lives  h;is 
iicsscH  and  iiio- 
w  small  a  share 
iiy  lii'Cdt  eflbrts 

rapery  of  green, 
u'  vast  loresls — 
^  stand  loltiest, 
iant  branches — 

their  grandeur 
■r  and  favoring 
iftened  morning 
T  dewo  of  eve. 
art  which  may 

comfort,  l)cgin 
te  benevoleneo 
in  small  events, 
ward,  "  because 
Utile,"  the  corn- 


rni.  WIDOWS  .Ji;\vi;i.s. 


S3 


mission  lo  do  ihose  great  things  which  they 
desire  may  be  given  tliem. 

(Jood  lililc  Andrew  did  not  huigli  at 
lloberl,  wlien  one  nigin,  meeting  him  in 
liie  shvet  with  his  arms  full  of  shavings,  he 
a.^ked,  •■  Wliei-u  are  yon  going,  Robert?" 
"  'i'o  maki'  a  clean  bed  for  old  Mrs.  Mo- 
rey's  pig,"  said  Robert. 

"  Von  ace  always  kind  to  every  one, 
Roberl;  and  so  1  suppose  every  one  thinks 
you  have  nolhing  else  to  do." 

"  No,"  said  Robert,  "  she  did  not  ask  me 
lo  do  this  for  him  ;  but  you  know  she  has 
no  little  boys  to  wait  upon  her,  and  I 
ihoughi  poor  piggy  must  be  cold  there 
alone,  in  his  wet,  dirty  nest:  so  as  I  was 
coming  by  Mr.  Williams'  work-shop,  I 
begged  these  shavings  for  him.  I  believe 
I  shall  sleep  the  belter  to-night  myself,  to 
know  that  I  have  made  even  a  poor  little 
j)ig  more  romlortable  than  he  would  have 
been  but  for  me." 

Meantime  William  was  emulating  his 
elder  brother  in  goodi:ess,  and,  so  far  as  his 
younger  age  and  lender  frame  would  per- 
mit, was  very  ambitious  lo  follow  his  ex- 
3 


7' 


yi 


iiii;  widdw  s  ,;i.\vi;i.;*. 


ample,  unci  iicrrnriii  lal)()rs  of  u.sfriiliifss. 
Soiiu'tii'U's  ln>  was  iiitnistcil  with  the 
cliargc  of  an  I'rrand,  wlicn  Robert  was 
ollirrwisc  I'Mgai^cd  ;  anil  llif  speed  ;ind  ae- 
(iiraey  willi  wliiili  lie  sui'ceeded  in  per- 
lormint;  il,  olU'u  gained  liiin  llie  surprise 
and  reward  of  the  indiviilual  w!u>  had 
employed  him. 

Then,  too,  he  hiid  been  able  l)y  manly 
olVorl  to  keep  tlieir  hearth-stono  warm 
during  the  eokl  winter  days,  tints  i'ar,  l)y 
his  diligence  in  bringing  home  the  cliips 
which  the  laborers  in  the  ship  yards  al- 
lowed him  to  gather  nj)  from  around 
ihem  ;  and  when  these  failed  ho  would 
go  to  llie  distant  forests,  often  in  storms 
and  snows,  and  bind  up  the  knots  and  dry 
branches  which  the  fierce  winds  had  bro- 
ken frcin  the  trees  and  strewed  upon  the 
ground ;  and  (^lily  did  he  divide  these 
necessary  but  humble  supplies  with  the 
poor  widow,  Mrs.  Meloy,  living  in  the 
next  room,  who,  aged  and  almost  blind, 
had  neither  son  nor  daughter  to  cheer  her 
loneliness,  nor  penny  of  her  own  in  store 
to  relieve  her  wants;  l>ul,di  >endent  upon 


' i' 


,\vi;i.s. 

•S    ol'    USfl'lllllCSS. 

istcil  with  till- 
u>ii  Robert  was 
lie  sjircd  ;iiiil  lu- 
ii'ii'cdctl  ill  |)cr- 
liiiii  till'  siirpriM! 
iiluiil    wlio    liuil 

1  iililu  by  manly 
irtli-stoiio  warm 
lays,  tlnis  I'ar,  l)y 
;  home  tlio  cliips 
o  ship  yards  al- 
ij)  from  arouiul 
laili'd  ho  woul<l 
orton  ill  storms 
ihe  knots  and  dry 
-'  winds  had  bro- 
trewed  upon  the 
ho  dividu  these 
ipplieS  with  the 
ly,  living  in  iho 
lid  almost  blind, 
filter  to  cheer  her 
her  own  in  store 
d(  oendont  upon 


Tin:  winows  ,n:wi:r,8. 


35 


llie  very  scanty  |)rovisions  jillorded  as  her 
share  (rom  the  parish,  was  almost  unknown 
to  charity,  and  was  waiting  only  lor  tlie 
(liaiige  which  would  remove  iier  from  her 
inlirmilies  and  poverty  to  the  weary  pil- 
grim's home — the  grave. 

The  little  boys  were  both  liapjiy  in  do- 
ing all  in  their  power  for  her  coin  fort ;  nor 
were  their  sincere  endeavors  unavailing. 
Robert  was  always  ready,  when  at  home, 
to  serve  her  in  some  way  ;  and  William, 
in  addition  to  the  chips,  shavings,  and 
branches,  with  which  he  contributed  with 
some  success  to  warm  her  tr-mbliug  limbs, 
was  not  less  useful  to  her. 

At  the  foot  of  a  high,  rugged  hill,  a  short 
distance  from  them,  a  small  spring  of  wa- 
ter issued  from  the  bank,  and,  falUng  over 
the  projecting  point  of  a  ledge  of  rocks, 
supplied  many  poor  emigrants  with  almost 
the  only  article  of  use  to  be  obtained  with- 
out money  or  price.  From  this  little  foun- 
tain William  brought  water  for  their  daily 
use,  until  now,  in  the  severity  of  the  cold, 
the  small  stream  was  so  choked  by  the  ice 
that  it  was  long  ere  a   bucket  could  be 


/' 


36 


nil:  WIDOWS  .iF.WKi.s. 


lilli'il  Ironi  it.  '.iinl  tlio  stoiic!^  mid  surrouiicl- 
lUfT  I'lulKnikiiicnl  wm-  so  c-ovcred  by  itH 
Ihi.k  imrustiilions,  lli;il,  as  his  sliocs  wt-r.- 
\vt)iii  out,  he  could  no  loiii,'fr  slmid  and 
wait  as  lonncily  lor  tin-  slowly  <lrrl)|)inK 
liquid;  lliis  aticiilioii  1o  liis  iiiollirr  and 
INIis.  Mi-loy  liad  tiuTi'lon'  passed  into  tli<! 
care  of  llio  more  iiaidy  Rohcrt. 

Oiii-  I'vcnini:,  liastcnin^'  lioinc  froni  his 
cinployuicnt,  -and  ijuickly  [jorforming  the 
customary  iillli'  services  Cor  each,  lie  stood 
leanlni^  ai^'ainsl  the  low  window,  looking 
down  upon  thi;  many  houses  about  thorn. 
He  was   planning  for  future;   years;   his 
thoughts  roved  wildly.  aii<i  hope  promised 
fairly,  as  he  summed  up  a  long  list  of  time, 
and  "labor,  and  knowledge,  and  pleasures 
which  ho  was  fan(!ying  would  be  his  por- 
tion.     He  would  l)e  willing,  he  thought, 
to   )"'>or   hard   to  deny  liimself;    and   he 
wou.d  do  so:    then,  having  at-ipiired  the 
knowledge  and  resources  which  he  imagin- 
ed wonlii  satisfy  his  wishes,  he  went  on  to 
paint  in  his  mind  the  snug  lioim-  li<'  would 
like  to  have  for  his  mother's  comfort ;    he 
seemed  to  see  her  occupying  the  principal 


Tm'. 


WKI.S. 

L*»  aiul  fturround- 
)  covered  by  ilH 
s  Ills  slicM'H  wen' 
iiii^rr  stand  :ui<l 
sli)\vly  tliippiiij,' 
his  iiiDllicr  iiiid 
•  passed  into  the 
ol)ert. 

•y  home  Irom  his 
/  performing  ihe 
or  eaeh,  lie  stood 
\vin(h)\v,  h)oking 
uses  about  tliein. 
nture  years;  his 
id  hope  promised 
1  long  list  ol'  time, 
(c,  and  ph-asures 
ft'ould  be  his  por- 
llin<r,  he  tliought, 
hiiTisell';  and  lie 
ing  a^-ipiired  the 
whieh  lie  iinagin- 
les,  he  went  on  to 
g  liome  he  would 
lier's  comfort ;  he 
ying  the  principal 


\ 


riJi:  wiuow.-.  iiwr.LS. 


37 


scat  within  it— a  little  older  it  is  true  than 
now,  but  softly  touched  by  the  hand  of 
ag»!,  so  that  she  could  still  retain  her  health 
and  capacity  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  he 
would  deliglit  to  i)our  at  her  feet  after  her 
long  series  of  hardshijis  and  toils.  (),  this 
was  the  brightest  part  of  the  picture,  and 
long  did  he  dwell  upon  it,  changing  and 
improving  his  fancied  arrangements,  as  he 
thought  would  best  please  her,  with  all  the 
Ultcrest  of  reality.     Then  his  little  sister 


iiM 


nil.  wiixiw  .-,  .ii,wi.i,s. 


Nilly  .*lioulil  l\iu)W  no  want  dI'  aui^lit  lin 
could  procure  io  ^raiily  her;  William 
sliouitl  i)c  siMit  to  school,  and  Im-  sui)|>li('d 
with  means  to  support  liiiiiscli';  and  all 
their  now  poor  and  anxious  circle!  should 
l)c  happy — when  he  should  be  a  man  !  (), 
how  should  lie  then  gladden  the  hearts  of 
the  poor  whom  he  Unew,  and  how  gene- 
rously would  he  remeiul)er  to  reward  any 
little  destitute  boy  whom  he  might  send  on 
errands  for  him,  when  he  himself  wouKl 
be  the  geiUleman. 

So  busy  was  he  with  his  boyish  schemes 
as  to  forget  his  fatigue  and  the  darkness  of 
the  hour — all  in  the  bright  days  of  coming 
years.  Suddenly  a  town  clock  reminded 
him  that  the  time  was  approaching  in 
which  old  Mrs.  Meloy  was  to  go  out  to 
her  evening  meeting;  he  left  the  fair  dreams 
of  future  prosperity  and  usefulness  which 
he  was  picturing,  and  presented  himself  as 
usual  as  her  door  to  accompany  her,  still 
exhilarated  by  the  cflect  of  his  imagination. 

The  old  lady,  sitting  on  a  low  stool  by 
the  fire,  was  just  putting  on  a  clean  cap. 
As  Robert  opened  the  door,  his  Utile  sister 


il  III  aiii^'lil  lie 
her;  VV'illiiiiri 
11(1  1m'  sii|)|ili(Ml 
iiiscit';  aiul  all 
rt  ci«l(!  sliould 

I  1)0  a  man  !  O, 

II  llic  iioarts  of 
iiiul  liow  gciic- 

to  reward  any 
might  spiul  on 
himsolf  would 

joyish  schomcs 
llie  darkness  of 
days  of  coming 
;lock  reminded 
ipproaeliiiig  in 
s  to  go  out  to 
t  the  fair  dreams 
iefulnesH  which 
nted  himself  as 
inpany  her,  still 
lis  imagination, 
a  low  stool  by 
3U  a  clean  cap. 
',  his  little  sister 


nil,    WIDOW-,   .IKWKI.S. 


30 


Nelly    npiang    lioin    licr    iiostiire    by    the 
HJiouldcr  (•(  the  poor  woman,  upon  which 
file  had  been  leaning  during  the  story  sho 
had   been   listening  to  from   her   lips,  and 
<l'i|)ping  her  hands  with  joy,  as  a  pleasant 
thought  seemed  atoiic(!  to  suggest  itself  to 
her  mind,  she  said,  «  ()  Ilcibert,  Robert, 
come  in;   1  want  to  iell  ycm  something. 
(),  I  wish  it  were  not  so  dark  now,  then 
you  could  see ;  i)iit  only  think,  grandma 
Meloy's  hair  is  turning  black  !   I  wish  you 
could  see  it;  there's  one  black  hair,  and 
then  another,  and  another,  and  close  by  it 
two  or  three  together,  all  turned  as  black! 
Sha'nt   you  be    glad   when   they   arc    all 
alike  ?     Then   I  guess  she  will  be  young 
again,    and    stand    straighter    ami    walk 
faster  than  she  does  now ;  and  I  suppose 
she   will   se(!   again:    she  will    not   wish, 
Roi)ert,  to  have  you  come  to  go  to  rroct- 
ing  with  her  then." 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  poor  woman,  shaking 
her  head,  "  I  shall  never  be  young  again. 
Once,  many,  many  long  years  ago,  my 
hair  was  dark  and  smooth,  like  your  own 
bright  locks  ;  my  eyes  were  as  blue  and 


1: 


40 


THE  AVIDOAV'S  JKWKLS. 


quick  lo  see ;  my  check  as  soft  and  round  ; 
aii-i  I  could  sland  as  straight  and  run  as 
fast  as  your  little  self,  Nelly.  But  O  those 
years  have  jQ;one  :  lliey  came  and  went  so 
swiftly  that  I  scarce  could  tell  how  ihey 
passed.  But  by  and  by,  here  and  tluu-e  a 
white  hair  came,  and  wriiddc  followed 
wrinkle  on  my  cheek,  and  from  my  eye 
the  clear  blue  faded,  my  sight  grew  dim, 
my  ear  grew  dull  of  hearing,  my  steps 
were  slow  and  slower  still,  till  my  feet 
trembled  as  I  put  them  to  the  ground,  and 
my  shoulders  bowed  down  beneath  the 
weight  of  almost  eighty  years. 

"  Now  lay  your  hand  just  here,  Nelly, 
upon  your  heart:  you  feel  it  beating  full 
and  fast — that  is  your  life.  You  eatuiot 
make  it  still,  nor  could  you  wake  it  into 
motion  if  it  once  should  cease  to  throb. 
It  was  God  who  gave  it  first  that  motion, 
and  it  is  he  who  keejjs  it  active  still.  Per- 
haps for  eighty  years  to  come  he  will  watch 
around  it  every  little  moment,  that  it  may 
not  cease ;  or  he  may  bid  it  noon  to  beat  no 
more.  But  should  he  condescend  to  guard 
you  thus  so  many  years,  then  you  will  be 


Trrii: 


I 


VELS. 

soft  and  round ; 
i;ht  and  nin  as 
{.  Bui  O  lliopo 
no  and  wont  so 

tell  how  llicy 
ere  and  tlxsre  a 
rinklc  followed 
1  from  my  eye 
iglit  grew  dim, 
iring,  my  steps 
II,  till  my  feet 
he  ground,  and 
vn  beneath  the 
ars. 
ust  here,  Nelly, 

it  beating  full 
You  eaimot 
lU  wake  it  into 
cease  to  throb. 
•St  that  motion, 
'tivc  still.  Per- 
le  he  will  watch 
[•nt,  that  it  may 
soon  to  beat  no 
escend  to  guard 
len  you  will  be 


VnV,    WIDOWS   JKWELS. 


41 


as  I  am  now,  and  need  some  happy  little 
child  for  your  lonely  hours,  or  some  kind 
hand  like  Robert's  to  lead  you  to  the  place 
of  prayer." 

"  O  grandma  !''  she  exclaimed  ;  "  and 
then  shall  we  live  on,  and  be  always  so 
old,  and  lonesome,  and  sick  ?" 

"  Not  always,  Nelly.  Feel  here,  my  heart 
beats  slower  and  more  feebly  than  yours 
and  Robert's.  ft  will  not  beat  much 
longer,  for  its  strength  is  almost  gone,  and, 
before  many  monlhs  are  passed,  probably 
it  can  move  no  more  ;  then,  when  it  has 
moved  for  the  last  time,  this  breath  will 
cease,  these  dull  eyes  will  close,  this  face, 
these  limbs,  will  still'on,  and  be  laid  away 
in  the  grave,  to  molder,  and  blacken,  and 
crnmblc  into  dust.  ]?ut  still,  Nelly,  1  shall 
live;  God  will  then  have  called  my  spirit 
to  himself:  there,  in  that  other  world,  I 
shall  not  need  this  heart  to  beat,  or  these 
limbs  to  move — like  the  angels  I  shall 
live. 

"  But  there  will  be  a  day  of  glory  and 
of  t(Tror,  such  as  has  never  been — for  CJod 
will  come.     Man  shall  look  upward  to  the 


42 


nil,  wii)i>\v.s  .iiiwi'.Lrt. 


openinc;  skies,  and  buliold  liiiii  there  in 
juvl'ul  brightness,  surrouiuled  by  a  thou- 
sand limes  ton  tliousand  of  his  angels. 
The  sun  and  stars  shall  fadt'  away  before 
him ;  the  mountains  and  the  seas  shall 
tremble  at  his  pr(  sence  ;  and  when  he  shall 
utter  his  voiee,  it  shall  shake  terribly  the 
earth,  and  all  ihc;  dead  shall  hear  it.  'J'hen, 
rising  from  their  long  slumbers,  these  bo- 
dies, once  decayed  and  mingling  undis- 
tinguished with  the  dust,  shall  put  on  life 
immortal  at  his  eominand.  None  can  dis- 
obey him  then,  or  Ihre  the  glances  of  his 
eye,  or  tarry  in  the  grave.  Yon  will  be 
there,  /  shall  be  there,  to  occupy  again 
these  bodies ;  not  blackened  and  inolder- 
ing,  as  when  the  worms  fed  upon  them  in 
their  dark  abode;  not  old,  and  weary,  and 
sick,  as  when  the  spirit  left  them;  but,  sown 
in  corruption,  they  shall  be  raised  in  incor- 
ruption,  never  t«)  grow  sick,  and  weary, 
and  old,  again  :  but  if  buried  in  fjiith,  new- 
rising,  theyrhall  meet  the;  Saviour's  smile, 
and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  be  changed; 
beautiful  and  happy  for  ever  shall  they  be, 
like  his  own  most  glorious  body. 


^ 


Iiiiii  iIktc  ill 
L'd  by  a  thou- 
of  his  angds. 
]v  away  bofciro 
tlit>  seas  shall 
1  when  ho  shall 
ike  terribly  the 
hear  it.  'J'hen, 
bcrs,  these  bo- 
lingling  uiulis- 
lall  put  oil  life 

None  can  <lis- 

gliuices  of  hid 

Yoii  will  be 

oecupy  again 
d  and  inolder- 

upon  them  in 
ind  weary,  and 
KMTi;  bill,  sown 
•ai-sed  in  incor- 
k,  and  weary, 
d  in  faith,  new 
laviinir's  smile, 
ye  be  ehanged; 
r  shall  they  be, 
bodv. 


Ii:    WIlMiU  »   .IKWKLS. 


43 


"  Heeaiise  of  sin  once,  fJod  coiulemned 
all  nuuikiiid  to  di(!  in  punislnueiil ;  but 
because  Christ  redeemed  us  by  his  death, 
the  bodies  of  those  who  forsake  sin,  be- 
lieving in  him,  shall  be  restored  to  life 
cv-e.-lastinry.  That  as  sin  hath  reigned 
unto  death,  even  so  might  grace  reign, 
through  rigliteousness,  nnto  eternal  life." 

Robert  turned  away  with  a  sigh  and 
a  smile.  With  a  sigh— -for  the  solemn 
thoughts  upon  that  certain  and  awful  fu- 
ture, had  dissipated  the  frail  vision  of  the 
brief  and  uneerlain  future  which  he  had 
been  so  busy  in  portraying  to  himself;  but' 
a  smile  may  well  follow  such  a  sigh,  when 
the  heart  can  feel  itself  secure  in  pardoned 
sin  from  the  fear  and  destruction  which  is 
to  overtake  those  who  have  not  "  (led  for 
refuge"  to  the  blood  of  Christ. 


M 


rnii  wiuuw'o  je\v:;ls. 


CIIArTER  V. 


U  O  IJ  K  R  T  '  S     D  K  A  T  II . 


Anothkr  Friday  night  came  around, 
and  scarce  a  week  had  passed  away,  since, 
exhilarated  with  joy  and  health,  Robert  had 
almost  flown  upthe  stairs  to  meet  the  bless- 
ing and  prayer  of  his  pious  mother.  That 
prayer  was  soon  to  be  answered  by  Him 
who  icnows  "  what  best  for  each  will  prove," 
and  who  will  surely  recompense  the  bless- 
ing of  the  parent  upon  the  head  of  the 
child. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  as  he  turned 
his  steps  homeward  from  his  labor.  The 
dark  purple  clouds  lay  threateningly  and 
low  along  the  horizon,  and  thewintery-night 
winds  swept  coldly  through  the  streets  and 
lanes  of  the  city.  As  the  darkness  in- 
creased, tiie  chill  blasts  became  more  and 
more  penetrating ;  and,  as  they  hurried  one 
after  the  other,  bore  along  upon  their  course 
clouds  of  the  light  snow  which  had  fallen 
during  the  day. 

The  traveler,  who  here  and  there  was 


r-.. 


TtS' 


\v:;ls. 


V. 


ATII. 


Tin-;  WIDOWS  jewels. 


45 


it  came  around, 
set!  away,  since, 
ralth,  Robert  had 
o  meet  the  bless- 
s  mother.  That 
iswcrcd  by  Him 
each  will  prove," 
ipensc  the  bless- 
thc  head  of  the 

oon  as  he  turned 
his  labor.  The 
ireatcningly  and 
the  wintcry -night 
;li  llie  streets  and 
he  darkness  in- 
ccamc  more  and 
they  hurried  one 
apon  their  course 
which  had  fallen 

i  and  there  was 


facing  the  rough  wind,  felt  its  force,  and 
shivcringly  galJKired  his  thick  clothes  more 
clo.-cly  about  hiin. 

Trembling  more  than  he  was  wont  to 
do  before  the  cold,  and  with  no  exira  gar- 
ment to  protect  iiiin,  Robert  ctmid  only 
grasp  his  little  jacket  lightly  to  him  with 
one  hand,  while,  quickening  his  |)ace,  he 
pressed  the  other  to  his  aching  head. 
Flushed  and  fatigued,  it  was  with  dilli- 
cully  he  could  ascend  the  long  llights  of 
stairs  leading  to  their  abode;  and  when  he 
had  performed  the  tasks  which  devolved 
upon  him  at  night,  for  his  motiier  and 
IMrs.  Meloy,  he  sunk  down  upon  his  little 
couch,  feverish  and  restless,  begging  his 
mother  to  pray  that  the  pain  in  his  head 
might  aliate.  All  night  scarcely  could  he 
refrain  from  disturbing  the  family  with  his 
groans ;  and  when  the  morning  light  ap- 
peared, his  waking  eye  hailed  its  coming, 
but  it  brought  no  relief  to  that  deep-seated 
pain.  Unable  to  rise  during  all  the  day, 
the  long  hours,  as  they  passed,  seemed  but 
to  add  to  it  in  their  wearisome  /light.  To- 
ward evening,  his  anxious  mother,  alarmed 


I 


f^ 


46 


TIIK   WIDOWri  ,ir.\VEL8. 


much  by  his  inorcascd  sntlfriiii^Siaiid  IVar- 
iiigtlic  rt'sult,  lliou^h  not  expecting  iniinc- 
diiitc  danger  to  iiis  life,  sent  away  Utile 
William  i'or  a  physieian.  |}ut  it  was  too 
late.  A  fatal  disease  was  uj)on  the  brain, 
so  speedy  in  it.^  distressing  en'eets,  that 
medicine  could  not  clieck  its  power,  (uul 
was  calling  him  home  ;  and,  with  a  heart 
almost  breaking,  his  mother  bowed  above 
him,  and  watched  the  symptoms  of  a|)- 
proaching  death. 

He  only  who  formed  that  heart-  -who 
had  once  before  visited  it  in  "  disguised 
love,"  leaving  it  wiilowcd  and  bereft — could 
now  measure  its  deep  sorrow,  as  the  dread- 
ful blow  was  about  to  fall  upon  it,  again 
to  remove  the  earthly  hope  on  which  she 
leaned.  liut  He  who  layeth  waste  can 
best  restore.  While  he  marks  the  degree 
of  allliction  needed,  and  measures  the  sor- 
row of  his  snfl'ering  ones,  his  own  unerrin<T 
skill  knows  how  to  mete  out  consoling 
grace  for  the  bitter  moment  of  trial  here, 
and  also,  how  rich  treasures  to  reserve  for 
tile  mourning,  in  the  !)right  world  where 
the  cause  of  every  gri(>f  shall  be  known, 


EWELS. 

lVt'riii^s,aiul  IVar- 
('X|)cctiiig  iniiiic- 
.seiit  away  Utile 
Hut  it  was  too 
i  upon  the  brain, 
■'iiii,'  cn't'cts,  thai 
its  power.  (uhI 
11(1,  witli  a  heart 
ler  bowed  above 
yniptoms  of  a|)- 

tlial  heart  -who 
it  in  "  disguised 
nd  bereft — rouid 
ow,  as  tiie  dread- 
11  upon  it,  again 
pc  on  which  she 
lyeth  waste  can 
narks  the  degree 
tieasures  the  sor- 
^lis  own  unerring 
e  out  consoling 
-■nl  of  trial  here, 
res  to  reserve  for 
^ht  world  where 
shall  be  known. 


TUK   WIDOW'S  JKWKI.8. 


47 


and  every  sigh   and  tear  receive  its  just 
reooinpeMS(!  of  reward. 

"  So  comforted,  and  so  sustained,"  Mrs. 
M'Coy  WMlehed  hiin  as  the  short  br«'alh 
grt>w  shorter  still;  and  catching  the  last 
smile  froin  his  lips,  as  his  spirit  was  de- 
parting, closed  his  eyes  just  as  the  light  of 
th(>  holy  sabbath  niorn  was  beaming  upon 
the  earth. 


CIIAl'TEll  VI. 

U  O  IJ  E  U  T  •  S     U  U  U  I  A  L . 

One  of  the  mildest  days  which  winter 
had  brought  during  all  its  reign,  was  the 
Monday  which  followed  this  sabbath.  Tlu; 
very  winds  Fccmcd  hushed  and  soft  as 
spring  time,  as  if  unwilling  to  add  to  the 
widow's  gloom  by  one  mournful  note. 
The  sun  looked  into  the  low  window  of 
Iheir  little  room,  with  warm  and  cheerful 
light.  It  was  shining  for  the  last  time  upon 
the  still  form  there  which  was  so  recently 
rejt)icing  in  its  brightness. 

It  was  the  bnrial  day  of  little  Robert 


■ 


4X 


Tin;  winows  ji;\vi:r.s. 


I     .  **  '* 


Hill,  calm  as  was  the  air,  and  briglit  the 
stuiiliji;ht,  they  coulcl  not  rheer  into  ono 
monicMit's  rorgclt'iihicss,  tlic  hcaitri  of  ihoso 
sincere  mourners  lor  the  dead. 

Desolate,  indeed,  is  the  dwelling  of  the 
weallhy,  where  sorrow  and  death  are  visit- 
ing ;  and  a  loneliness  is  there,  which  not 
the  presence  and  sympathy  of  many  friinds, 
nor  all  the  pom  of  richi's,  can  relieve. 
l?nt  when  in  the  )ode  of  deep  poverty  tli(! 
shadow  of  derail  falls,  llicrc  is  gloom  which  . 
naught  but  the  light  of  (iod's  smile  can 
penetrate;  when  from  thence  the  promising 
hope  and  future  siipjiort  are  removed,  Utcrc 
is  a  weight  of  sorrow  which  jjitsscs  the 
spirits  down. 

When  the  hour  appointed  for  the  cere- 
iTiony  arrived,  a  few  individuals,  some  of 
them  strangers  to  the  alllicted  mother,  but 
who  had  known  young  Robert,  and  appre- 
ciated his  worth,  assembled  in  the  small  attic 
room  once  his  home,  the  ceiling  of  which  was 
so  low  that  ihey  could  scarcely  stand  erect. 
The  decent  black  colVm  in  which  he  was 
now  laid,  attired  for  the  grave,  stood  all 
uncovered  upon  two  chairs  in  the  centre 


TTtS'-' 


\vi:i.s. 

and  bright  the 
;'li(!er  into  oiio 
'.  ln-arlri  of  llii>so 

(Iwi'lling  of  tlio 
I  dcitli  !in;  vi;>it- 
licrc,  wiiicli  not 
of  maiiyfrii'iids, 
les,  can  roliovf. 
Iccp  poverty  the 
•  is  gloom  wliicli  , 
Jod's  smile  can 
CO  tlio  promising 
(•  removed,  llterc 
licli  i)resses  ihu 

ted  for  the  cere- 
iduals,  some  of 
[•ted  mother,  but 
ibert,  and  appre- 
in  the  small  attic 
lingof  which  was 
fcely  stand  erect, 
n  whieli  he  was 
grave,  stood  all 
rs  ill  the  centre 


THE   Al'IDOWS  JKWELS. 


49 


of  the  floor.  Che  inolher  in  silent  grief 
sat  by  the  head  of  the  departed  boy,  with 
one  arm  encircling  ihe  pillow  on  which  it 
rested,  as  if  in  sleep;  and  ga/ing  steadily 
upon  the  dear  remains  with  fondness  which 
could  scarce  relincjuish  them  in  these  last 
short  moments  of  possession.  Litth?  Wil- 
liam, with  (;alm  brow,  stood  by  her  side, 
looking  wilhin  the  coflin.  The  elder  sister, 
Jane,  had  come  in  from  her  place  of  ser- 
vice, and  sat  near  them,  weeping  aloud. 
Lilllt!  Xclly,  iloi)ert's  pet,  though  very 
young,  appeared  as  true  a  mourner;  and 
scaled  upon  a  blocU  close  (o  the  head  of 
the  collin,  wit'i  eyes  reil  and  swollen  by 
tears,  often  sobbed  and  murnuired  some- 
thing about  her  Robert. 

Old  IMrs.  Alcloy  was  there;  and  a  few 
other  tenants  of  the  house  had  come  in  to 
share  the  sorrowful  exercises.  As  the  kind- 
hearted  minister  glanced  upon  the  group 
before  him,  his  heart  melted  with  sym- 
pathy ;  the  deep  feclinrs  of  his  breast  were 
traceable  by  the  flnsi  npon  his  temples, 
and  the  moisture  in  his  eyes ;  and,  looking 
upon  the  young  boy  whom  he  had  once 


r 


80 


THE  ■WinOW'R  JEWELS. 


SO  highly  rslrcincd,  In;  iiitorrnptpd  the 
siloiicc  ol  ilic  iipartnu'iil  l)y  toucliinjjtly 
iiUi'riiig  iIk'  words, 

"  He  rest'*  hi  .lo-iis  mul  is  l'l'"^^"il, 
How  swctt  liis  >liiii\lji.'r8  arc  !" 

The  tears  oi"  iiu  lollowcd  ;  and  the  room 
WUH  again  silent,  iiiHii,  staiidini,'  l)y  the  foot 
of  the  optMi  eollin,  lie  eoiiiiueiieed  the 
serviced  of  the  occasion  with  readini?  an 
appropriate  hymn,  l-'aintly  the  sonj,'  as- 
cenih'd  IVom  ihatsiul  compiiiiy,  and  ri'adily 
did  they  bow  in  prayer,  even  those  most 
unaccustomed  to  kneel  as  the  minister  in 
solemn,  heartfelt  expressions,  presented 
their  ])etitions  to  the  throne  of  divine 
mercy. 

When  the  prayer  was  concluded,  the 
gloomy  moment  came  to  seal  up  in  its 
long  s<leep  the  lifeless  body.  ()  tiie  unut- 
terable bitterness  of  that  moment  to  the 
stricken  heart!  As  two  men  approached 
with  the  coflin  lid  and  screws  to  perform 
that  duty,  they  again  stood  back  while  the 
mother,  throwing  her  arm  over  the  cold 
bosom  of  her  son,  wrapped  him  once  more 
in  the  last  embrace  of  yearning  love  ;  and 


T-J' 


F.L8. 

itorruptod    the 
l)y   toucliingly 

lilos.sM, 
lire  I" 

;  ;ui(l  llm  room 
liiii;  l)y  itii'  loot 
umiu'iicctl  i1k* 
itii  ri'iuliiig  ail 
y  the  song  aa- 
iiy,  uiul  ri'ii<lily 
•en  lliosi-  most 
tlic  minister  in 
ons,  prosciitod 
■one    of   divine 

concluded,  the 
seal  np  in  its 
!,  O  the  luint- 
moment  to  the 
u'!i  approached 
•ews  to  perform 
1  bnck  while  the 
<\  over  the  cold 
1  him  once  more 
rning  love ;  and 


Trin  WIDOW'S  .ir.wia.s. 


.11 


laying  her  face  by  the  side  of  that  head 
sht!  Iiad  so  often  cherisheil  npon  her  own 
breast,  sobbingly  bathed  tlie  still  hair  with 
tears.  William  we|)t  fdond  ;  mid  ejich  of 
that  little  family,  taking  their  last  kiss, 
yielded  themselves  up  to  tears  afresh. 

Violent  had  b(«en  the  mother'a  struggle 
with  grief;  but  il  l)assed— calmly  she  saw 
them  securing  the  lid  which  for  i-ver  hid 
him  from  her  sight ;  and  as  they  bore  him 
through  tlu!  narrow  passage  to  the  stairs 
her  eyes  followed  them,  and  pressing  her 
hands  togedier  upon  her  knee,  wjiilc  her 
li))s  grew  very  pale,  she  slightly  moved 
her  person  backward  and  forward,  and, 
still  gazing  through  the  now  vacant  door- 
way, her  heart  uttered  its  agony  in  low, 
simple  ejaculations—"  Gone  I— Robert— 
mij  Robert !  my  good  son  Robert  I" 
*  •  *  «  » 

A  few  months  only  haxc  gone  by  since 
that  worthily  beloved  boy  has  slept  the  sleep 
of  death.  Grief  and  poverty  are  still  press- 
ing upon  the  little  family  who  remain  ;  but, 
in  daily  intercourse  with  God,  they  find 
that  his  love  and  care,  for  which  they  cove- 


I 


it''. 


52 


TIIK   WIDOW'S  JF.WKLS. 


iiaiilcil  ill  fiiviiiji!  ilicir  lirarls  lo  liini,  nro 
now  thi'ir  f«lr()ng  hope  : 

"  Kiirtli  lius  i,n  sorrow  tliat  heaven  rnnnot  licnl." 
Ill  prayer  and  failli  tlify  liiinw,  as  all 
shall  know  wlio  spck,  lliat  (lod,  rvcii  tlio 
Mii<^lity  God,  spirads  IiIm  talKrnaclc  of 
mercy  above  their  heads  ;  and,  asking  re- 
fuge there,  they  are  al)Ie  to  rejoice,  though 
sorrowful ;  to  trust  luifearingly  that  his 
providence  will  supjily  theiu,  when  uiiahio 
to  lell  wheni  they  f<hall  get  their  daily 
bread.  Doubts  will  not  livt>  wilhiii  their 
hearts,  lor  they  know  Uiat  (!od  does  not 
forget  nor  forsake  those  who  put  their 
trust  in  him  ;  and  they  lean  upon  that 
gracious  One  who  has  assured  his  trem- 
bling children,  that  when  every  earthly 
comfort  is  apparently  failing,  he  will  not 
fail  them.  It  is  his  word  ;  and  though 
"  the  grass  witherelh — the  (lower  fadeth — 
the  word  of  our  tlod  shall  stand  for  ever." 


r 


rv.ta. 

uts  to  him,  aro 

n  rimimt  lioal.'' 
y  know,  as  nil 
(ii)(l,  rvi'ii  the 

tabcriiticlo  of 
and,  askinj^  re- 
rejoice,  llioufj;!! 
ringly  that  his 
n,  when  uiiahlo 
got  their  (hiily 
ve  wilhin  their 

(iotl  does  not 
who  pnt  their 
ean  u|)oii  that 
■*iired  Iiis  trem- 
I  every  earthly 
ing,  he  will  not 
1  ;  and  though 
Mower  fadeth— 
stand  lor  ever." 


CHAITKU  Vl[. 

Til  i;    II  i:.\  I,    A  1.  1  VK. 

At  the  eiose  of  one  of  ihe  coldest  days  in 
the  winter  or  iHUr,,  „„  „|,i  |.„|y  ,,.,||^,,, ,;,  ^^^^^ 
house  to  pass  Ihe  iiiglit.     She  ha.l  ,.oine 

that  day  from  H ,  j„  ih,.  southern  part 

ol  this  stale  ;  was  eold,  Catij-ued,  and  liun- 
gry,  having  tasted  no  food  sinet;  she  leli 
her  own  desolate  homo. 

V\nm  entering  ilie  room,  I  was  ntlrartod 
by  her  appearane...  Sixty-liv,.  v,,,rs  could 
scareely  have  told  the  lengili  of  l„.r  jili-'s 
pilgrimage,  yet  she  seemed  a/llieted  with 
lew  oi  the  inlirmilie.s  usually  attendant 
upon  such  age.  II,,r  dress,  sonu-wliat 
laneiful,  was  of  Scoleh  plaid,  and  ihe  large 
bright  cheelcs  of  searlef,  green,  and  black, 
made  rather  an  unbecoming  contrast  witli 
the  deep  traces  that  time  had  graven  on 
her  face ;  her  little  starched  cap,  in  full 
trim,  set  up  daintily  ;  and  the  high-heeled 
shoes  which  she  had  slipped  from  her  feel, 
were  lying,  toe  to  toe,  at  prudent  dis-' 
tance  from  tjie  fire :  all  seemed  the  care- 


64 


THE   WIDOWS  JKW'KLS. 


fully  preserved  i  .licrf  of  former  laste  and 
years. 

As  slie  drew  np  lii^r  small  figure  more 
creclly  in  llie  chair,  and  glaiieed  her  black 
eyes  familiarly  around  the  apartment,  I 
thouglit  I  had  never  seen  the  face  of  years 
so  bright  with  animation  ;  as  if  she  had 
either  never  known  llie  many  disappoint- 
ments allotted  for  the  threescore  years  and 
ten,  or  that  such  trials  had  been  happily 
forgotten  :  her  \.'hole  countenance,  indeed, 
indicated  that  slie  liad  just  set  out  in  life 
with  new  hopes — new  joys. 

After  she  had  taken  supjjcr,  I  drew  my 
seat  toward  her,  and  she  soon  revealed  to 
me  the  following  simple  story.  I  will 
endeavor  to  "  tell  the  talc  as  'twas  told 

to  me." 

«  *  «  *  * 

"  In  the  northern   part  of  the  state  of 

Maine,  in  the  small  town  of ,  T  lived 

many  years  with  my  husband.  We  had 
no  family,  and  hard  work  enough  it  was 
upon  a  poor  farm  which  scarcely  paid  for 
tilling,  to  get  an  honest  livelihood. 

*'  My  husband  was  always  poor,  and 


"^••i*^._i 


i 


■nier  taste  and 

ill  figure  more 
ucod  her  black 
i  apartment,  I 
le  face  of  years 

as  if  she  had 
my  disappoint- 
icore  years  and 
[  been  happily 
cnanco,  indeed, 

set  out  in  life 

)er,  I  drew  my 

)un  revealed  to 

story.      I  will 

as  'twas  told 

*  m 

)f  the  state  of 

jf ,  T  lived 

md.     We  had 
enough  it  was 
;arcely  paid  for 
ilihood. 
ays  poor,  and 


TUK  WIDOWS  JKWELS. 


55 


I 


\ 


I 


almost  always  unfortunate.     I  would  not 
be  ungrateful;  but  Providence  did  not  smile 
upon  him,  so  we  almost  tiiought,  as  upon 
those  who  needed   his  sniiles  much   less. 
Yet  I  can  now  look  back  and  sec  it  was 
all  for  the    best.     I  was   not   a  Christian 
then,  though  my  liusband  was.     His  health 
was  very  poor ;  and  with  an  aching  ht^art 
I  have  often  watched  him  from  the  window 
of  our  home,  raking  the  scanty  hay,  or 
hoeing  the  sandy  loam.     I  have  seen  him 
lean   upon  some  tree,  to  wipe  the  sweat 
from   his  pale  forehead,  and  his  wearied 
arms  would  fall  heavily  beside  his  trem- 
bling body.     And  sometimes  as  he  came 
in  he  would  say,  '  If  it  were  not  for  you, 
Nelly,  and  the  baby  which  Heaven  has 
given  us,  how  glad  I  should  be  to  go  to 
my  rest;    or,  if  it  might  please  him,  to 
call  us  all  tor  Mier !' 

"  But  such  was  not  his  will.  Ere  our 
baby  had  ])assed  its  first  year,  my  liusband 
did  go  to  his  rest.  He  left  me  peaceful  in 
Cjod,  yet  'sorrowing,'  as  he  said,  '  for  the 
lonely  walk  which  might  be  mine'  (aiul 
O,  how  lonely  it  has  been!)  'before  we 


± 


■f 


:.JSS!Bi/SiSSS~ 


j'        i 


56 


TIIK    WIDOW'S   JEWELS. 


should  sit  clown  to2;ellier  in  our  Father's 
kingdom.' 

"  Six  years  I  struggled  on  with  my  little 
boy,  desiring  nothing  lor  myself,  but  mueh 
for  him  ;  and  a  brighter  lad  than  .Tohn  you 
never  saw.  But  my  health  failed  at  last ; 
and,  unable  longer  to  maintain  us  botii,  I 
concluded  to  put  him  out  to  work  as  well 
as  he  could,  (and  he  was  quite  handy,)  to 
some  farmer. 

"  For  some  time  I  lieard  of  no  one  who 
would  take  so  young  a  boy.  At  length 
Mr.  'Lijah  Baker,  a  milh'r,  iiai)pened  to  be 
in  the  place  on  businc;:-^,  iv  "ve<l  about 
fifteen  miles  from  there  ;     <  •  of  me,  he 

called  where  I  was,  ana  agreed  to  take 
Johnny  home  with  him.  As  he  had  never 
been  to  school,  Mr.  Balcer  promised  to 
send  him  three  months  of  tlie  year,  till  he 
was  ten  years  old,  on  condition  that  till 
then  I  would  furnish  hi  u  with  a  new  hat 
and  a  pair  of  shoes  once  a  year. 

"  I  could  hav(!  but  little  information  of 
the  man's  character,  yet,  as  it  was  the  only 
way  before  me,  I  consented  to  let  him  go. 

"  Bitter  was  the   hour  of  our   parting. 


VELS. 

,11  our  Father's 

11  with  my  little 
yself,  but  much 
1  than  John  you 
1  failed  at  last ; 
itain  us  both,  I 

0  work  as  well 
uite  handi/,)  to 

of  no  one  \Yho 
oy.  At  length 
nai)pcned  to  be 
"((•  "ved  about 
•  ;■;;'  of  me,  he 
agreed  to  take 
Is  he  had  never 
■r  promised  to 
he  year,  till  he 
idition  that  till 
ivith  a  new  hat 
year. 

inlbrmution  of 
it  was  the  only 

1  to  let  him  go. 
if  our   parting. 


I 


TUK  M'lUOW'S  JEWKI.S. 


57 


He  had  always  been  a  good  boy,  and  was 
all  the  world  to  me — my  daily  companion, 
my  only,  aflectionate  little  son.     Now  in 
hi.s  clean  clothes,  his  light  glossy  hair  j)arted 
and  brushed  one  side — though  his  round 
blue  eyes  liiled  with   tears,  yet   he  never 
looked  so  well,  or  seemed  so  dear  to  :ne 
before.     He   clasped  his   little  arms  tight 
around   my  neck;    really,  1  was  more  a 
child  than  him,  for  I  sobbed  and   went. 
I  could  hear  his  little  heart  beat  quickly, 
as  he  tried  to  cor-ifort  me.     '  Mother,  don't 
cry  so,'  said  he ;  '  I  will  be  good.     I  shall 
soon  be  old  enough  to  earn  some  money, 
and  you  shall  have  it  a/f.     1  will  buy  you 
some  ^'/((A'.vi-s,  and  then  you  can  sew  in  the 
evening.      And   I  will  get  you  a  poiotd 
of  lea.     Eben  Wood   loved   me ;   he  will 
hold    the    thread    for  you    to    wind,   and 
pick  up  chips  for  you  now,  sometimes,  I 
guess.' 

"  But  the  moment  came  for  him  to  leave. 

I  looked  upon  theui  as  the  wagon  rolled 

out  of  the  yard  and  jolted   slowly  up  the 

hill,  and  watched  them   till  the  top  of  his 

^little   blue   cap   disappeared,   as    they  de- 


f 


I      <    , 


i^sfitsisasssaaSEr .: . 


58 


Tin;  wmow  s  ji;\vi:i,s. 


i^.cnik'd  tlio  otlior  sidu  ul'  tlie  hill;  and 
tlit-'u  I  filtered  the  iiouse  aiul  wepl  anew. 

"  1  could  not  all'ord  to  ride  ;  so  when  the 
year  came  round,  1  walked  to  Mr.  Baker's 
to  seo  my  boy,  taking  the  shoes  and  hat. 
My  spirits  were  never  liijfliler,  or  my  steps 
more  nimble,  than  while  on  my  way  ;  they 
were  less  so  coming  home,  perhaps,  but  I 
could  have  gone  any  distance  to  mecth'ni 
— my  heart  was  very  tender  for  hiin.  I 
found  him  well,  and  a  good  boy  still. 

"  The  second  year  I  went,  and  he  was 
much  improved.  His  kind  feelings  made 
him  a  little  geiillemaii  to  everybody  and 
everything.  He  would  not  give  a  mo- 
ment's pain  to  bird  or  chicken,  bug  or  fly. 
And  everybody  loved  John. 

"  Tlie  iliird  year  I  went.  He  was  ten 
years  old  that  day  ;  it  was  the  ninteenth 
of  June.  It  was  dark  when  I  came  to  the 
house.  No  person  or  creature  was  in  the 
yard  ;  no  light  gleamed  from  the  windows. 
I  knocked,  then  opeiicd  the  door :  all  was 
dark  and  cnii)ty ;  there  was  no  sound,  but 
the  crickets  chirping  in  the  hearth,  and  the 
wind  rustling  in  an  ajjple-lrec  behind  the 


I 


I 


f->* 


T!3iL, 


tfS.»    ^E.*-  rfB»:«— 


;\VKi,s. 

ol'  tlio  hill;  and 
iiul  wept  anew. 
ide  ;  so  when  the 
;d  to  Mr.  Baker's 
!  shoes  and  hat. 
liter,  or  my  steps 
111  niy  way  ;  they 
V,  periiaps,  bnt  I 
iiiee  to  meet  li'm. 
ider  for  him.  I 
od  boy  still. 
:ent,  and  he  was 
id  feelings  made 
.)  everybody  and 
not  give  a  mo- 
ekeiij  bug  or  fly. 
111. 

lit.  He  was  ten 
as  the  ninteenth 
en  I  came  to  the 
"aturo  was  in  the 
0111  the  windows, 
he  door  :  all  was 
as  no  sound,  but 
e  hearth,  and  the 
;-lrec  behind  the 


I 


rni;  WIDOW'S  jkwels. 


59 


house,  'ruriiing  away,  I  came  and  stood 
by  Ihe  stream;  the  water  si  ill  poured  over 
the  dam,  l)ul  the  wheels  of  the  mill  were  mo- 
tioniesc-.  Sitting  down  upon  a  log,  I  wept. 
"  ft  was  a  mile  to  any  neighbor"?  house. 
Overcome  with  fatigue,  I  could  sca.-cel_y 
rise;  yet  the  thought  that  he  might  be  there 
encouraged  me,  and  I  walked  on. 

"  The  jieople  seemed  kind,  j)itied  my 
sorrow,  but  knew  nothing  of  my  son.  They 
said  Mr.  Baker  had  lailed,  and  left  the 
town  suddenly— no  one  knew  where  he 
was  gone.  I  went  from  place  to  place, 
and  wore  out  three  i)air  of  new  shoes  in 
search  of  him.  Once  I  traced  him  to  New- 
port, and  learned  that  a  man  had  there  put 
such  a  boy  on  board  a  vessel  to  go  to 
France ;  but  could  ascertain  nothing  more, 
and  returned  iioine  broken-hearted. 

"  Two  years  p  .ssed  away.  Unable  to 
support  myself— without  money  and  with- 
out friends — but  one  thing  remained  for 

me.     I  went  to  B ,  and  cast  myself 

upon  the  iirovision  of  the  state,  and  be- 
came an  honest,  industrious  inmate,  of  the 
alms-house. 


?* 


■iiassemt 


GO 


Tin:  WIDOW  8  ji;wi;r.,s. 


"  Year  alu-r  year  came  and  went,  willi- 
oiU  bringing  nie  any  lidings  of  my  son.  I 
learned  to  live  witlioiit  liiin,  and  only 
thought  ol'  hiin  as?  a  spirit  in  heaven. 

"  J  heeaiTie  tired  of  my  companions  in 
the  iK)or-/iousc,  and  hired  ol'  Mr.  Ford,  our 
overseer,  a  little  room  over  his  corn-house. 
As  it  was  of  no  use  to  him,  he  let  me  have 
it  for  sixpence  a  week.  'I'he  state  allowed 
me  but  little  more  than  this  for  my  sup- 
port ;  however,  1  managed  to  get  i'lo'ig. 
1  et)uld  knit  stockings  for  my  neighbors, 
and  used  to  gather  herbs  for  the  sick.  Be- 
sides, I  did  not  need  much  :  tea,  sugar, 
collee,  butler,  and  such  liki-,  1  gave  u))  long 
ago.  Two  meals  a  day  v.ere  all  I  allowed 
myself. 

"  Cold  weatiier  was  rather  hard  upon 
me,  sometimes,  it  is  true ;  when  the  sleet 
covered  my  window,  and  the  loud  winds 
shook  the  building  around  me.  At  such 
times,  when  I  was  most  lonely,  the  image 
of  my  little  .Tohn  was  ever  present  with  me, 
till  it  almost  seemed  as  if  he  were  riallij 
there,  sitting  upon  his  low  stool  close  by 
my  side,  rubbing  his  thin  hands  (softly, 


■■-'".Aisu-.. 


:\VKr,.s. 

and  Wfiit,  willi- 
gs  of  iTiy  son.     I 

liiiri,    and   only 

in  heaven. 
r  eonipanions  in 
of  Mr.  Ford,  our 
r  liis  corn-house, 
n,  he  h't  mo  have 
'lie  state  allowed 
this  for  my  sup- 
cd  to  get  !<lo!ig, 
)r  my  neighbors, 
for  the  sick.  IJe- 
acli :  tea,  sugar, 
:e,  I  gave  u})  long 
iore  all  I  allowed 

ilhcr  hard  upon 
;  when  the  sleet 
1  the  load  winds 
id  me.  At  such 
onely,  the  image 
present  with  me, 
if  lie  were  nallij 
•w  stool  close  by 
in   hands  (softly, 


Tin;    WIDOW'S   .IKWKI.S. 


fil 


that  I  miyht  not  hear  him)  to  keep  them 
warm,  and  inslructing  mv  into  the  plans 
he  iiad  formed  for  taking  care  of  me  when 
I  should  be  ,.|d.  Hut  these  thoughts  would 
soon  vanish  and  give  place  to  happi.u'ss 
more  abiding.  'J'he  widow's  Friend  lor- 
got  me  not.  His  smik-  kindled  gladness 
in  my  room,  till  even  the  n.ui^h,  knotted 
boards,of  my  apartment  seemed  lo  join  in 
])iaise  with  my  heart. 

"Hut  though  1  could  talk  without  ceasing 
of  his  merci.^s  to  me,  (for  such  words  are 
'honey  to  my  taste,')  yet  I  will  not  detain 
you.  I  will  tell  of  them  in  '  the  general 
assembly  and  church  of  the  lirst-boru  in 
heaven.' 

"  Seventeen  years  had  passed  away.  It 
was  just  a  week  to-night,  two  gentlemen 
came  to  .Mr.  Ford's  about  eleven  o'clock 
at  night— they  were  well  dressed,  fine  look- 
ing men,  as  yoji  will  see— with  a  handsome 
liorsi>  and  chaise.  They  asked  if  Mr.s. 
Ticonard  was  there.  ISfr.  Ford  pointed 
them  to  where  I  was,  said  I  was  probably 
asleep,  and  invited  them  to  stay  till  morn- 
ing with   him  ;   but  one   of  them   replied 


.«ac: 


■*'  ■«. 


G2 


TIIF,   WIDOW'S  .TEWF.LS. 


lio  must  sec  mc  llien — thai  he  was  my 
son  ! 

"  Mr.  Ford  camo  over  with  ihoni.  They 
kiioi'kcd  a1  my  door;  I  awoke,  woiideriiijj, 
and  let  them  in.  Wisiiing  to  see  if  I  would 
recognize  a  son  in  a  stranger,  they  merely 
howeil  as  they  passed  me,  recjuesting  per- 
mission to  look  at  the  room,  talked  as 
if  they  proposed  hnying  it,  occasionally 
glancing  toward  me,  as  J  was  sitting  wrap- 
jjcd  in  my  old  cloak,  shivering,  upon  the 
side  of  the  bed.  1  thought  they  had  taken 
a  strange  time  to  purchase  a  building — 
almost  midnight!  I  had  heard  of  sjhck- 
lulors,  and  of  their  being  (tbniit  rrazi)  with 
business,  and  concluded  these  were  some 
of  them. 

"  One  came  toward  me,  and  asked  me 
if  1  lived  there  all  alone  ;  and  if  I  were  not 
very  lonesome.  I  replied,  1  had  been  so 
at  first,  but  was  now  accustomed  to  it.  He 
then  asked  me  if  1  had  no  •family.  I  re- 
plied, '  Noni-:  '  Have  you  uevcr  had  any  ?' 
he  asked.  Tiiis  was  always  a  hard  f/iws- 
liun  for  me.  I  paused  a  moment  to  coiurol 
myself,   and  could  only   say,  '  The  Lord 


(■.-.■. 


B 


^ 


•( 


WF.LS. 

liat  ho  was  mi/ 

illillioni.  Tlipy 
okc,  woiidfriiur, 
lo  see  if  I  woukl 
gcr,  they  merely 
I  reiiueslincf  per- 
ooin,  (allied  as 
it,  occasionally 
ms  silting  wrap- 
'crini^s  upon  tlit^ 
t  tliey  liiid  taken 
ic  a  building — 
lieard  of  .spcru- 
1 1)1  lilt  rruzi/  with 
lic.se  wore  some 

,  and  a?ked  me 
md  if  I  were  not 
,  J  had  been  so 
lomed  to  it.  Hu 
o'laniily.  I  rc- 
uevcr  had  any?' 
lys  a  hard  qucs- 
ornent  to  control 
?ay,  '  The  Lord 


rni;  winon"s  jkwki.s. 


C3 


gave,  and  the  [.„rd  h;iili  liiken  //innnwixy; 
No  one  sp,.ke.  I  looked  up— suddenly  the 
bargain  had  been  h.rgotien — tears  were  in 
the  eyes  of  i'mcIi.  (),„.  „C  t|„.ui  turned 
away  and  leaned  over  the  lire-place,  while 
the  other,  (who  hiul  not  beh.re  sp„ken  to 
me.)  throw  ing  his  nnns  juoruid  my  neck, 
•Slid,  •  Mother !  niolher!  /  am  yoiir  fitl/e 
JnlniHi/ ."  " 

'I'lie  old  lady  wept.  an<l  said  to  me,  ••  1 
lell  you  what,  I  h'lt  ///v////  siti/.i/r 

'I'he  son,  since  he  was  (,■„  years  ohi,  had 
been  almost  constantly  .i  ...  "a  ;  what  lilile 
time  was  allowed  him  in  any  \cw-Kng- 
hnid  port,  he  had  employed  searching  (or 
his  mollK  r,  but  knew  not  where  to  line?  her 
her  till  now.  Jlc  had  ihen  given  up  the 
chanres  of  a  liCenpon  the  deep,  and  esiai)- 
lished  himseir  in  business  in  y****  *«»» 

"  And  )iow,'"  .«aiil  the  old  huly,  "  J  r„,i' 
going,  and  expect  to  spend  my  days  with 
John.  I  think  I  am  not  muhanklul  Cor 
this  great  blessing,  nor  have  i'orgotleii  CJod, 
whose  love  and  providence  protecK-d  my 
hoy  in  a  world  lull  of  danger,  and  has 
made  my  '  heart  sing  for  joy  '  because  '  my 


i 
jj 


1^ 


',T 


f 


f  '*> 


61 


Tin:  M'lDow'rf  .ir.wici.M, 


son  wart  di'ud,  iiiid  is  ulivo  iigfiiii ;  was  losi, 
and  is  found.' 

"  Ifovor  you  sliould  -ro  1o  S*'***  •»**, 
you  may  hi-c  wlicn^  In-  lives.  His  naiiK! 
is  John  Nrwton  Lfonard  :  on  liis  sign  it 
is  .lolin  .V.  liconard,  but  his  name  is  .lolni 
Ncu'liiti  lii'onard." 


Tui;  r.ND. 


iVKLS. 

igiiin ;  was  lost, 

lo  S*-***  •*•*, 

cs.      His  iiiutu'. 

oil   liis  nii,Mi  it 

s  iKiiiu;  i:j  John 


> 


tii 


H~] 


.;atf>aJiM'a-M!ft''i»'kiwafeja'^ 


